Free Touch the Sun by Cynthia Wright Page B

southern girl just because you asked me to—no questions asked. I believe, however, that I am owed some answers! I will not have you deposit some featherbrained chit on my doorstep and then proceed to tell me you don't wish to take my ship this spring without some clarification. You owe me—"
    Tired of watching William's face redden and swell, Lion shifted his eyes to watch the shadows leap over the carved cornices and across the decorated ceiling.
    "Really, I do wish you'd spare me this tirade," he interjected coolly. "If you continue at this rate, you'll be struck with an apoplectic seizure and I shouldn't like that on my conscience. I'll tell you this much. I am considering a career in this new government and that is why I am marrying, and why I don't wish to sail this spring."
    The hot blood drained rapidly from Bingham's face. "Or ever?"
    Lion studied his frilled cuff, straightening it with tanned fingers. "That remains to be seen."
    "How can you do this to me? What about your ships? I can't believe you're saying this!"
    "Don't worry, I won't leave you and Mordecai so coldbloodedly. I'll still be down at the waterfront, and I flatter myself on having an eye for a competent seaman. You can count on me for anything except my presence on board when those ships sail next month. As for my own craft... I'll have to think about that."
    The note of finality in his voice was unmistakable, and Bingham knew that the subject was closed for the time being. Feeling ill, he took a long drink of port and muttered bleakly, "Your audacity is quite incredible. But, I suppose I must forgive you."
    Lion's mouth twitched in an instinctive grin. "Imagine my relief!" Bingham flushed and drained his glass while Lion continued, "Will you still find space in your magnanimous heart—and house—for my fiancée? I realize the imposition—"
    "My word is good. I said she could stay here, and so she shall."
    "If you'll excuse me," Lion said, getting to his feet, "I believe I'll be going home myself. For the past ten days I have dreamt of this evening—of drinking your fine brandy before this fire. But now that I am here, the pleasure seems empty somehow..." His eyes were fixed on the clock above the mantel; then he shook his head, laughing softly. "No offense intended, William. I suppose I am tired after all."
    "I don't suppose there's a chance your thinking will change after a good night's sleep?"
    "If it does, we'll know that God has heard your prayers."
    They came into the brightly lit marble entry hall, their steps echoing through the silent house. At the door, Lion paused as Wickham approached with his cloak and hat, both dry and spotless.
    "There is one thing I'd like to ask, William."
    "Yes?"
    "It's my fiancée's maid. She's no ordinary servant—"
    Bingham blinked in confusion and spluttered, "Have you taken leave of your senses? What will you say next? First you tell me—"
    "Don't begin again, William," he broke in tiredly. "I only want to ask that you have a care with Meagan—that's the girl's name. You can't ignore her. She's tiny with coal-black hair, and incredible eyes like amethysts. And, if I know you..." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wickham incline his head in their direction. "She's no ordinary servant, that's all. Not common, if you take my meaning. If I find that she's been mistreated, by anyone—"
    "You'll what?" William asked in total bewilderment. When it became apparent that Lion did not intend to answer, he demanded plaintively, "What in God's name is going on around here?"
    * * *
    The rustle of expensive silk announced the approach of Anne Bingham more eloquently than words, and both girls froze, waiting. The swish of her skirts stopped outside the bedchamber; then there was a delicate tap. Meagan left the dressing table to open the door, taking care to curtsy and lower her eyes.
    "Good morning, madame," she murmured, clenching one fist in silent defiance.
    Anne nodded ever so slightly in her direction before